


Happy Holidays

by AngelGirl4212



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 19:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20606165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelGirl4212/pseuds/AngelGirl4212
Summary: Scott and Warren are left alone in the school for the Christmas holidays.





	Happy Holidays

Christmas lights blink outside the window, reflecting off the snow that had gathered on the sill. The effect is surreal, like a scene from any number of the over-played holiday specials occupying almost every television channel. As a result, the television remains firmly off. The only one currently 'home' isn't interested in Santa Claus or misfit toys. His attention is captivated by the thin layer of fog covering the inside of the beautifully made-up window.

Scott Summers extends the index finger of his right hand, pressing the finger tip against the glass. Under his careful administrations the words “Merry Christmas” appear on the glass. Trailing from the “S”, his finger falls to the ledge. When the front door opens, Scott makes a fist , wiping away the words. When he turns to face his mentor, there is only a clear porthole to the outside world.

“Scott?”

The sound of his name still makes him jump and he silently berates himself for the involuntary action (_“Scott? Where the fuck are you, you little shit?” Jack Diamond roars from his position on the roach infested couch . “You better be getting me another beer, boy.”_). If Charles Xavier notices, he doesn't say anything. He sits, dignified in his wheelchair, and adjusts the festive blanket on his lap. The blanket, a dark green decorated with tiny boughs of holly, is a contrast to his face.

The lines are solemn, almost worried, and it shows through every slight hand gesture. “Are you alright?”

The boy shifts his focus from the Professor to the window, behind the ruby quartz glasses his eyes squint, trying to see more than the smeared image of lights, “When's your plane leaving?”

The professor sighs, “Tomorrow morning. The cook stocked the kitchen and the housekeeper will be here on Boxing Day.”

“I'll be alright.” One closed hand rises, cleaning another patch through the fog with the side of his fist. After a moment, the index finger makes another appearance and several dots appear above the shape, transforming it from a mass into a tiny elf foot, “So you won't be here for Christmas.”

**X**

Hank, Jean and Bobby left in a whirlwind. Bobby was the first to go, his parents pulling up to Xavier's school and his father honking the car horn until the child emerged. His suitcase bumped painfully against his knees with every small step, scraping across the driveway with every small effort to avoid bruising himself. The trunk pops open and he is gone.

Hank's parents come in, as do Jean's, but the end result is still the same. Scott is left, his arms wrapped around his legs, eyes never moving from the action around him. By noon he is alone. The vast estates that make up Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters spreads before him and all of it is empty. After making himself a sandwich he grabs a Coke and chokes it down, his eyes never leaving the lights of the Christmas tree. The colours reflect off his glasses but they all look the same to his mutated eyes.

**X**

Warren Worthington tossing his cell phone to the floor with a stifled cry of frustration,the front door slams against the antique frame behind him. His footsteps, heavy with anger, echo through the room. He's about to yell, see if the Professor has already left , when the cry dies on his lips. In front of the tree, head resting near an empty plate, Scott sleeps. The noise may have caused the boy to stir, but he is too motionless to tell for certain. Warren moves silently,picking the plate up and depositing it in the kitchen sink.

“What are you doing here?”

The voice from the doorway gives him a shock and warren wipes his fingers on the dish rag before answering, “Holiday plans didn't pan out. What are you still doing here?”

Scott laughs, the noise joyless and cynical, “Where else would I be?”

**X**

The day passes quickly and, although it is Christmas Day, both boys rarely see each other. Warren spends his time on the phone, tears of disappointment pricking his baby blue eyes even as his voice, harsh and controlled, wishes his mother a happy holiday season. Scott spends his time in his room, a book opened to an unread page, resting on his crossed legs. Every time he attempts to absorb the content, a controlled outburst from another room claims his attention. Giving up, he shoves the book from his lap; it falls to the carpeted floor with a hollow thud, and leaves the room.

**X**

That evening, with _It's a Wonderful Life _playing quietly on Global, Scott lies under the tree. From vantage point he can see through the branches, gaining an inside view of the lights, slowly the red ones fade and the blue ones gain strength, and the twirling decorations. Inside his mind, he sees another time, a time when holidays meant the scent of freshly baked cookies wafting from the kitchen and when the lights actually held a colour other than the ruby quartz variety.

“Scott?” Warren's laugh is soft, born of genuine amusement and devoid of any mocking qualities, “What are you doing under the tree?”

Scott shuffles, moves from his spot. He scoots until he's clear of the branches. “Just looking at the lights.”

Slim, you are pathetic.”

Behind the heavy glasses, Scott shoots Warren a glare, “Thanks Warren. I'll treasure that thought forever. You're an asshole.”

Scott storms up the stairs, throwing himself into the safety of his bedroom. He lies across his bed, hugging his pillow to his chest. Tears burn his eyes, but he doesn't let them fall, considering himself too old for such activities. After a while emotional exhaustion brings him to the edge of sleep. Teetering, he falls into it.

**X**

The bed moves, shifting under the body weight of another. Scott groans, moves to avoid the obstacle and finds that he can't. Opening his eyes, he finds himself staring into Warren's face. Staring stupidly, the remnants of sleep dulling understanding, he blinks hard. A bottle is shoved into his face, the mouth pointed to him.

“Huh?”

Warren shrugs, eyes sparkling with mischief, “Come on, Slim, you're slipping. It's Christmas, we're alone and the key to the liquor cabinet is in the Prof's study.”

A smirk lights up Scott's face, he reaches for the bottle, grabs it and gulps down a mouthful of the amber liquid. It burns his throat, leaving him stuttering and gasping. Tears roll under the glasses. He coughs hard and Warren pounds his back. He's grinning. As soon as Scott catches his breath, they both are.

**X**

The Christmas tree lights reflect off the half empty bottles. The chess board ignored between them. They gossip instead. Talk of Jean, of the Professor, of the Dream they're all being taught to believe in. Some time during their conversation, Warren leans over. Scott's bottle falls from his lips as the two boys touch. As Scott's tongue timidly runs over the length of Warren's bottom lip, the other boy begins pulling at their clothes. In minutes two sets of clothing fall to the floor.

**X**

They fall to the couch in a tangle of limbs. A mouth meeting his, Scott moans into it. Warren leans over him, wings spread behind him, looking more than ever like a beautiful angel. Behind them, the clock strikes the midnight hour. Their lips meet over and over again. When they join, there is pain, a deep pain that causes Scott to cry out in discomfort. Warren ceases all movement, concern written all over his handsome features.

“Do you want me to stop?”

A laugh rises at the back of Scott's throat and he swallows it; his breath hitching around the sound, “No...Please.”

**X**

They are woken up by the housekeeping staff; moving in through the servant's entrance, rustling around in the kitchen, pretending not to know anything about the two teenagers pulling their clothes on in hurried jerks. Pretending not to see the last kiss, also hurried; just barely a press. A whispered “Happy Holidays” before parting.

**X**

“I'm sorry that I couldn't spend Christmas with you.” The Professor sat, chair behind his antique oak desk, hands folded neatly on a stack of papers, “Warren not going home was a pleasant turn of events . At least neither of you were alone.”

Scott sat, hands picking absently at a hole in his jeans. The glasses giving nothing away and Xavier is too polite to use his psychic abilities to pry, “Yeah.” A hint of a smile graces his mouth, “It turned out to be a pretty good Christmas.”

The End


End file.
